


Man Behind The Mask

by Behind_The_Hood



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, M/M, Voilence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 14:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_The_Hood/pseuds/Behind_The_Hood
Summary: Joker got him. It was all too easy. It shouldn't have been, but here he is, tied up, stripped almost bare, and his identity is being threatened. It can't end like this. It can't.





	Man Behind The Mask

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted for so long now to do a Batman reveal, so I made myself sit down and write. I don't love it, I feel like there is more I could have done, but my writing isn't at that kind of point yet. I still hope you guys enjoy it though! Constructive criticism is welcome.

The baseball bat connects with his cowled head again, and he can feel his teeth rattle in his mouth, and he may also end up heavily concussed before this is over, but at least his cowl is still on. At least he has that small mercy.

“You know Batsy, this is getting just a little boring. You could at least _try_ to make more noise for your adoring audience!” Joker gestures toward the camera recording the torture. It’s at a slight angle from them, so Joker can stand right in front of him without blocking the view. The one that he has livestreaming to every available screen in Gotham. Who knows, maybe even Blüdhaven and Metropolis if Batman’s unlucky enough.

Joker got him by surprise. Batman has to admit, he wasn’t expecting the group of children to turn on him when he rescued them from their smugglers, to spray Joker laughing gas at him enough to nearly poison him, had he not kept his neutralizers with him. Though, deep down, he knows he’ll never blame them. Joker had boasted of how he had been planning this for weeks; gathering kids who just wanted to help their poor families make some quick cash if they only played along for a short while. The children weren’t to blame here, no, it’s the Joker.

So now Batman, stripped of his suit save for his belt, cupped underwear, and his cowl. Harley had attempted to remove his belt early on and now lay unconscious beside them, forgotten for the moment. The belt is only set to stun, she shouldn’t have fallen unconscious. But she is breathing; the best Batman can assume is she had a lack of sleep anyway and this was the push she needed.

Batman woke up in a metal chair, nothing fancy by the looks of it, with his hands behind his back and his legs tied together from ankle to thigh and strapped to the chair. The Joker has spent the last hour cutting him, beating him, bargaining with him, and is back to beating him again, except now it’s with a bat instead of his fists. He’s bleeding and bruised, his vision is blurry, and his muscles are starting to shake with the strain of pain from fractured and broken bones. His nose is probably broken as well, judging by the amount of blood falling down his face.

He’s dragged from his brooding when the bat is shoved into his sternum, knocking most of the air from his lungs. He groans and grits his teeth. He would have escaped long before now had the Joker not zip tied him from his wrists to his elbows, his thumbs and forefingers too. There’s only so much to be done barehanded and with so little leverage to rip the ties open.

“Oh Batsy, won’t you please just say something? Don’t you want everyone to know who to thank for all those heroic deeds?” Joker tries, smiling coyly at him, even going as far as to flutter his lashes. When he gets no response from Batman, he grumbles. “Look Batsy, this is how it’s going to work.” He leans onto his bat. “Either you tell all of Gotham who you are, or I’ll have to show them. And, yeah, sure, your little bats and birds are running all over looking for you, but no one else is, because they want to know. Even your precious Commissioner Gordon isn’t going to do anything because its just _eating at him_ to know the man behind the mask.”

From his apartment in Metropolis, Clark watches anxiously. The coverage could be described as gritty at best and snowy at worst. It’s barely reaching his tv, but he can still see it, still hear every word, and can hear Bruce’s heart thunder in his chest all the way from his couch. Clark knits his fingers together and waits. Waits for a sign or a signal. Anything.

Joker gets nothing from Batman though. His brow twitches, but he remains smiling. He rises from his bent position and shrugs, throwing his bat onto his shoulder casually.

“That’s fine Batsy. You don’t have to tell them. Like I said, I can just show them.” He moves behind Batman, then fingers graze his cowl, setting off the gas sensors. But they miss the Joker, and one of his mechanisms has been wasted on air. They spray out, and the fumes linger in the air for only a moment before they dissipate.

“One last chance to tell them Batsy, then I bring out the big guns,” Joker warns. Batman is actually starting to feel a little anxious now. He rears his head back and connects with the Joker’s nose.

The Joker grasps his face and laughs through the blood and pain.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about! That’s the Batsy I know and love! Gimme more!” Joker drapes himself over Batman’s shoulders, feeling along his chest and smearing both his and Joker’s blood in full view of the cameras. Batman growls when the Joker gropes his pecks. He jerks and tries to pry his legs free but his legs are as thoroughly restrained as his arms are.

Joker laughs and moves away.

“Joker!” Batman shouts after him when the man’s voice fades away. Harley is still unconscious by his side, but she’s useless to him. What he needs is something—anything. He’s almost desperate. Harley had taken his suit from the room at the beginning of this sick game, so that’s out. His belt is still on, maybe he can bend enough to reach a button.

Batman bends over as much as his arms and ribs will allow, and doesn’t get very far. There are no windows in this room, as vast as it seems to be. Maybe a skylight? He looks up. There are meat hooks hanging above him, but too far to reach. Those are out. The only other thing in the room is the camera. Joker will be back any second now. He has to be quick.

“Robin, I’m in what looks to be a mea—”

“No, no, no Batman. You can’t just spoil the fun like that!” Joker cackles behind him, with a glove covered hand slapped over Batman’s mouth. He’s tempted to bite Joker’s hand. He resists.

Joker, fresh faced, comes around the chair and it’s not just a gloved hand, but a full-on rubber suit. Batman feels dread fill him so quickly he thinks he may puke.

“No…” he begs, quietly. When Joker’s hand slowly reaches out for his face, Batman lurches back. “No, Joker stop.” He jerked too hard and the chair slowly tips just too far, and he falls back. A soft pop is heard under the hard crash of the metal chair. Batman groans.

“Oh Batsy, look what you’ve gone and done!” Joker squats by his face and pokes his shoulder. Batman grits his teeth. “You popped your shoulder out of place,” Joker tsks at him before hauling Batman’s body and the chair back upright, caring very little for his shoulder. “I tried to give you a choice but you just wouldn’t play along.” He pats Batman’s cheek teasingly. “The best part is that your birds and bats won’t get here quick enough to stop this!”

Joker grabs his belt, and the electricity has no effect on him as he unhooks it and slips it from Bruce waist. He gets a savage cry from Batman however as the electricity courses through his body because of his unprotected skin.

Soon the electricity is nothing more than a tickle under his skin and he pants through the pain, but the Joker is looking between him and Harley curiously. “I knew you were a tough old bat, but I didn’t know you were that tough,” he comments, and smiles with approval. “Now the mask.”

“J-joker,” his body convulses weakly, “Please, don’t do this. Whadda-what about the game? The game will be over if—”

“Batsy, the game has gotten boring, has been for a long time now. I mean, I killed your second little bird and now he’s back and pissy. What’s the fun in taking something from you if it’s just going to come back as a zombie with a vendetta? And to add insult to injury, he stole my schtick!”

Joker moves to stand behind him again. Batman wretches forward as far as he can, but the Joker still sinks his fingers into the edge of his cowl, and he can feel his heartrate spiking in his chest.

“Dear citizens of Gotham! I would proudly like to present to you, your precious little patron orphan playboy billionaire: Bruce Wayne!” the cowl is ripped from his head and Bruce is _scared_. He can’t look up. He can’t look at the camera. He can’t admit defeat like that. But, God, this can’t be happening.

Joker grips his hair and forces his head up and makes him face the camera.

“I’ve always known who you were Brucie, baby, but to be honest with you, I only ever had interest in the Bat. And you’ve both begun to bore me.” Joker plants a wet kiss to his temple, smearing his greasepaint onto the skin in a kiss mark.

Joker plucks Harley’s gun from it’s holster at her side and inspects it. With a satisfied and menacing grin, he put its barrel to the kiss at Bruce’s temple.

“From me to you with love. Any last words Batsy?”

Bruce has only two words left in him, because he refuses to let it end like this.

“Banana muffin.”

Joker pauses. Blinks. “Excuse me? Did you just say—”

The ceiling crashes in, and in a blur of speed Superman punches Joker in the face and flies Batman out of the Ace Chemicals building. Clearly the room he had been in was designed to make him think he was in an abandoned meat processing plant. Joker really had put a lot of thought into his capture.

Superman takes Bruce to the Batcave where Alfred is quick to rush to their sides. Bruce’s shoulder is popped back into place by Alfred while Superman works to release him from his bindings. When he’s released, Superman gives him a heavy look.

Bruce watches as Superman’s eyes trail up to the greasepaint on his temple. A hand with the power to move mountains carefully smudges it away, and a different kiss is placed on his face. Gentle, so very gentle. Superman always is.

He moves aside for Alfred to pop his nose back into place with a crack. Bruce’s eyes water against his wishes. Superman is before him again, tilting his head up, and placing a kiss to his lips. Chaste, but so full of love.

“Can you…?” Bruce tries to ask, feels a wave of _something_ come over him, and he stops.

Superman nods, knows. He takes off to take care of Joker and Harley for him. Bruce takes a moment to breathe, to calm his nerves, then he stands. It’s time to act.

“Alfred, please get me some clothes,” Bruce grasps his shoulder, “And an icepack,” he adds weakly as he heads towards the computers. GPS says that his bats and birds are in fact scattered in pairs of two around the city, even a cat is running amongst them. Clearly, they’ve been searching frantically for him.

He calls them all back.

They are going to have to go underground for a while, maybe forever. One thing is for sure. Wayne Manor is compromised. And Bruce Wayne is dead.


End file.
